Shrike Song
by Umechaw
Summary: We are defined by the things we leave behind, by the people we cling to. John Shepard is defined by the guilt of leaving his only family behind to face the caustic nature of the universe by herself. But the Shrike has a song too, and in the end, she will sing it. Because one neurotic Shepard clearly isn't enough.


**About this first chapter. **It is pure memories and morsels of history- it's a little bit back and forth but it'll get us up to speed for our protagonists. Hopefully it's not too boring as a preface.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothin', just my wee imagination.

* * *

**SHRIKE SONG**

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

**Local Cluster, Sol System, Earth**

**2170, 22****nd**** May**

She tried to pull the sleeves down, to hide the marks.

It's a habit she's picked up. It makes Shepard remember how she got them. He gets a tight feeling in his chest that is an insufferable, lopsided combination of rage and futility. The feeling rose in him when her sleeves kept bouncing back with every tug. And every time they do he saw her shrinking, looking inward and seeing the images behind her eyes. Remembering. Some strangled noise forced its way up her throat and he wished she would _just_ _cry_, and let it out. But she hadn't cried. It had been burnt out of her. He can't handle that look on a child. He blinked rapidly and turned away. It's all Shepard can do to stop himself from crumpling and taking the small girl into his arms, to hide her away from everything. To weep.

Instead he pulled off his jacket and bent down to his sister, and he placed it about her shoulders. Then she's hidden, and she found that focus in her eyes again, leaving it all behind. She stared at him dully, small fingers pulling it closer around her body, finding small safety in it. Being able to hide all the marks they had left on her. He touches her shoulder, and nearly shattered when she flinched.

'I have to leave, Ishi.' His voice sounded so fleeting and alien to him. 'I'm going to find work out there, to keep us going. I promise I'll be back, and I'll take you somewhere safe, real soon. Until then you have to stay with Loraine. She'll... she'll take care of you.'

The aunt in question stood behind the small girl, and from where he knelt, her wide frame blocked the sun, all warmth and shining hope. Shepard saw apathy and spite rolled into the expression on the large woman's face, and tried not to think about leaving his younger sister in the care of a woman that wasn't capable of caring for a broken child, because she was broken herself. His sister had not looked at the lady once, as if knowing what she was being resigned to, regardless of how much Loraine had been staring. He looked around at this busy, suffocating place that was nothing liking the quiet colony he had known his entire life.

His chest ached. He had a feeling he would never know that life again.

She would not be happy here, he knew it. He couldn't take her with him, not into the Alliance, into whatever danger that followed. He didn't want to risk pulling her along into _that_ whirlwind when she was already so fragile. He tried not to think about the fact that he was probably just a slipshod second away from being declared unfit for it as well, considering what he had been through. He tried to convince himself that he'd looked brave enough for both him and his sister. It seemed to have impressed Anderson. He'd deal with the backlash of suppressing it later, for the sake of Harper. And it didn't matter how many strings Anderson could try to pull, a five year old could _not_ follow him into the army.

'Ishi, I promise I'll come back.'

'Okay.' she whispered, not an affirmation that she believed or understood what he said, touching his face. She ran her hand along the stubble regrowth of his recovering hair. Her own hair was short and gentle, mending tufts. It made her look scrawnier, even skeletal. No fringe to hide behind, nothing to hide the tenderness in her eyes. She rubbed his head softly, avoiding the gash that had been stitched and still on the mend. And he couldn't _wait_ to get the length back, to forget why it had even been shaved in the first place, to forget why they had…

Three months ago, he'd only just come to terms with shaving regularly. He had clumsily asked his childhood infatuation out on a date to see the stars. He had kissed her under that sky, a trembling mess. Now he looked old, felt old. Looked like the youth had been beaten out of him.

'I promise.' he says again, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and feeling a timid peck against his, before standing up and hitching his duffel bag higher up his shoulder, and turning to Uncle Peter with a nod.

The other man, who is older, who is alien to Harper, and as unfamiliar and dangerous as any other man she now noticed, said goodbye to her warmly. But kept his distance and his hands in view. And then he turns to his plump wife, and presses an unreturned kiss to her cheek, telling her he loves her, and for her to take care of Harper as best she could.

And then Uncle Pete and John Shepard leave. And he leaves with his promise; he leaves her with a hole in her heart.

* * *

**Six Years Later**

Under most circumstances her body hardly left a dent in the world around to her. She was too small and immaterial, soundless, wordless, and by her doing. But the chair beneath her whined under every small movement, showing an appropriate amount of decay, as everything else in this small office did. She sat curled onto the chair with her feet tucked beneath her thighs, and she stared at the small carving she'd made in the desk and dug her nail in the fraying splinters of wood. She had picked and picked until a good chunk of the corner revealed old, pale wood beneath the varnish of Doctor Hinal's desk. She felt the presence of the door behind her, carefully unlocked, as there was constant buzzing in the hall outside. It was a mid-morning session— promising that other psychiatrists and doctors and the like would be filling the building to the brim. A time she had picked carefully.

Hinal was, unlike everything else in this shabby building, a model of personal health. He sat before her leaning forward with an earnestness befitting of a psychiatrist, hands meshed. She refused to look at him.

'Do you know what I think you need?'

She stared at the desk, wondering if he actually thought she was a psychic, and knew exactly what he supposedly thought she needed. He practically oozed slimeball, behind those perfect teeth and too-tight business jackets, from permanently flexing hard-earned muscles.

She didn't answer and he smiled. 'Loraine called me before you came in today. She says you've been making better attempts at attending school— if not for a couple of hours. An agreement of yours, I believe— if you started going to school she would postpone our little get-together's. So uninterested? Don't you think these sessions are _helping_ you?' Again, nothing. He started to lean back. His voice started to steep into a drawl. 'How _is_ school? Your teachers? Friends? Do you _have_ any friends? Are you still screaming in the middle of class from flashbacks?'

Her eyes came up and— _there_ it was, the sweet bitterness in her face, the snarl behind her eyes. The absolute terror. He smiled. 'A response, nice to know I exist. So, Harper, how are you?'

'The same as I am every month I sit here, and I stare at the desk, and you continue talking to yourself.' she bit out.

'And, tell me, what did you do for Loraine to send you back to _me_?'

Her toes curled.

'I hear you assaulted a classmate,' he said, annoyance dripping in his voice after she didn't reply for a good two minutes. 'That's quite a setback. I thought we'd worked all those violent tendencies out of you.' he tutted. She hated the way her name sounded on his mouth, like dripping acid.

Harper swallowed the thick hesitation in her throat, and spoke up. 'He wasn't a classmate.'

Hinal's eyebrow rose and he leant forward, a picture of perfect reassurance. She was just sure he was excited he actually got her to _say_ something. She instantly regretted opening her mouth. 'Oh?'

'He's older. He bullies me sometimes. This time he...'

'What did he do?'

'He tried to touch me _there_ so I smashed his balls to bits.' The words flew out of her mouth because she couldn't stand to think about it.

'That is _quite_ a vivid portrayal indeed. I hear he needs surgery.'

'He tried to _touch_ me.' she snapped, almost feral.

'Why didn't you tell your teachers? Loraine? They didn't mention this to me.'

'They wouldn't have believed me.'

Hinal made a strange noise at the back of his throat. She realised it was a _scoff_, and she felt her stomach sink. 'And you thought _I _would believe you? I know what you're like, Harper.'

She did not open her mouth again. She tucked her hands into the crook of her knees and squeezed as hard as she could.

'Witnesses said they thought they saw you use _biotics_.'

She felt like her blood had turned to ice. _How_? He was smiling.

There were only _three_ witnesses, including the boy who had tried to touch her, and while he had been shrieking on the ground not even remembering his name, his _lackeys _had been so terrified that one of them had actually urinated. The other simply whimpered now every time she looked him in the eye, the fact that she had used biotics was the _last_ thing on their minds. The only person she had told had been Loraine and she had made the woman swear that she would not tell anyone. Hinal's unwelcome knowledge of it revealed she had broken that promise. The ice in her blood began to boil, like pure anger, towards this cockroach and the woman that had scantily sheltered her for the past six years, but she quelled it, knowing it would not help. She quietly congratulated herself— she found it very hard to that normally.

'You're quite a stigma in society. Your biotics are not looked upon _fondly_. Do you understand what would happen to you and your aunt if your… abilities became public knowledge?'

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

His smile was full of shiny teeth. 'You know, there's a place out there _somewhere_ that takes in unstable kids like you. They steal you away from your family, cut off all communications, or soI'veheard. They train you up, implant you. What a waste for you to be sitting here, ripping off the balls of the entire male population for simply looking at you, while you could be doing your part for Earth in the galactic community.'

He knew a lot of words, he knew how to ramble, but already she was beginning to see red behind her eyes, her ears were beginning to fill with a dull whine, and she suddenly knew the danger she was in. 'I need to stay here—'

'_Do_ you?' he demanded. 'Because all I see is destruction. In fact it is my firm belief that if a place like that _does_ exist then somebody like you would be well suited to it. It is my diagnostic as your psychiatrist that the authorities should be notified we have a biotic being let loose on our community.'

'My... brother—'

'Is doing his part for Earth, and should not be bothered with such matters.'

'He's going to come _back_ for me, I need to—'

His laugh was cruel. 'You really think so? You really think he would come back to this shithole for _you_?'

Harper didn't say anything, as she began to feel the throbbing at the back of her head. The chair picked up her slight trembles.

And all of a sudden, his demeanour calmed. The nastiness that had forged a path on his chiselled face through the longevity of his speech, softened. He started chewing on his lip in the silence. She suddenly wished he would start babbling and threatening her again because her stomach dropped as she watched him watch her, and she _knew_. It didn't matter how many people were walking outside of this office, especially when the ratio of corrupt and genuine social workers was so against her.

'I shouldn't be so cruel. But it is _hard_ to make you understand.' he murmured. 'But you're a smart girl, aren't you? You understand what needs to happen. You know what you have to do.'

She felt like she was going to throw up. She was seeing it all again. Why did people keep making her _relive it_?

He wiped the spittle he had left on his lower lip while chewing it with a single finger. 'Go and lock the door.'

All the thoughts were scrambling around in her head like an ant farm that had been turned upside down.

'Come on now, Harper.'

She rose from the squeaky chair, and so slowly, painfully slowly, moved for the exit. She pressed her forehead to the door and listened to the bustle outside, and considered running for it. She pictured thundering out this door and Hinal picking up the phone and making the call. She _could_ run away, away from Loraine and school and these _pigs_, maybe try to get in contact with John. Maybe... maybe not even bother. She could survive on the streets. She could break all the balls she needed to break.

She'd been here so many times, since she was a little girl. She'd been broken before, half-rebuilt, all twisted and crumbling. She didn't know if she could handle waking up in the middle of an alleyway screaming and imagining…

She hadn't been able to protect herself then. But something had snapped now. She was brimming with all the power to protect herself. She suddenly felt very tired, and _very_ fed up.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and locked the door.

She only saw red as he beckoned her over.

'Good girl. You're doing the right thing, Harper.'

Hinal moved to touch her jaw but she already had her hand poised at his crotch and felt the migraine coming on as she _distorted the space_, and it felt all too familiar.

* * *

**Systems Alliance Space, Akuze**

_Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthe—_

All he heard was human screams and the sound of ripping earth and that horrendous _screech_. The vehicle hit resistance and was tossed into the air like a bothersome insect, by the time that phrase was repeating itself in his head Shepard and the members of his squad flew about the vehicle like ragdolls, heads colliding with metal, suddenly wishing they had taken advantage of the recommended seatbelts. And then something hit them again, something that made the Grizzly shudder, and alarms went off. The smell of smoke was everywhere. The sounds of critical failure and flaming engines could be heard over the ringing in his ears as the vehicle they had been crammed inside rolled along the ground, bouncing as it went.

By the time it had stopped moving its keel was in the air, and Shepard found himself head-first in scattered broken glass. The vehicle groaned and repeatedly listed the defects from such a crash as the squad whimpered in pain. Trying to catch his breath, trying not to move his right arm too much from a suspected break, Shepard looked up.

Fuzzy, confusing, but eventually he saw the twisted, mangled body strewn next to him, and those shakily trying to regain themselves.

'Who's alive?' Somebody croaked. His commanding officer, Marsh.

Those that could, spoke up, the rest slapped the metal hull of the Grizzly in answer. The others were unconscious or dead.

'Yes,' he breathed, rising on an arm that wasn't as torn. The small space was filling up with smoke.

'What the absolute _fuck_ was that?' somebody choked. 'What did we _hit_?'

'Did you guys hear that goddamned _screech_?' Toombs demanded. He was busy trying to bust open the mangled hatch, coughing into a fist. 'Gimme a hand, Shepard?'

Shepard forced himself onto his feet, unable to survey any personal damage, but judging by the blood drooling into his eyes, the glass had left its mark. He felt like going to sleep and realised he was probably concussed. He wiped the mess away and tried to help, trying to shove at the lodged scrap of metal with his good side.

That monster-noise had disappeared. The rest of the small team still fit for duty scrambled to survey who was dead and who was still breathing, others assessing the damage done to the vehicle, half-choking in the smog.

'All systems are in critical failure. Rolling like that would do some damage but it wouldn't set us on fuckin' _fire_. What the hell hit us, that second time?'

'Whatever it was, it tore through the hull. _Look_ at this shit. It's like acid.' One of the marines motioned to the side of the Grizzly and the giant, gaping, melted opening. 'Even if we right this thing the left wheels are probably looking like _this_.'

'Was it a grenade?'

'That was _not_ a fuckin' grenade. That ain't a normal explosion.'

'There are enemies out there, doesn't matter what they threw at us! Shepard, Toombs, get that goddamned door _open_!' Marsh snarled, his accent thickened by his hacking.

It finally gave way and they tumbled out of the wreckage, gasping for air.

The world was absolutely still. In the distance, the settlement they had been sent to investigate stood like a ghost town, much as they had first found it. When they had first arrived, though, they had riddled it with life, fifty or so Marines setting up camp and taking stock. As evening had fallen and the daytime expedition had brought up nothing, a small squad had been sent out at sunset to explore the surrounding area. Nothing but a few abandoned civilian and military-grade vehicles scattered between the crags.

'How many did we lose?'

'Just O'Connell,' Shepard's commanding officer muttered, as he dragged an unconscious survivor out of the smoking Grizzly. 'Boyle is out, but we patched him up.'

'Sir, the settlement is completely silent. Nobody's replying on the comms.'

'What the hell...'

'It had to have been an ambush.'

'O_kay_. But where are they now?'

Shepard scoured the perimeter. Darkness was falling quickly, and it was getting cold. The settlement was dim and silent, but it was the best chance of survival. As his team's demands for answers fell moot, he checked his wounds and shabbily patched up the deeper cuts on his thigh and stomach with medigel. Continually brushing the blood out of his face, he turned to Toombs and the others, and as he looked these frightened soldiers Shepard's stomach dropped. Something was so _wrong_ here.

'We need to get back. Chances are they're in trouble, and ain't safe to be out here.'

'Right. Bennett, help me carry Boyle. We're on the perimeter of the colony; we can make it on foot. Let's get in and then decide—' the sentence ended as that sound cut through again, shaking the ground fiercely. They all struggled to find their feet as somewhere close by, something screamed at them, and spattered.

And then something hit Marsh, making them all shout and scrabble for distance, and with a gurgle and a flailing, melting body, he and the unconscious survivor he was holding fell to the hard ground in violent twitching. The liquid had rebounded onto some of them and they shrieked as it ate through their armour.

And there it was, its mouth wide and razor-sharp and drooling. It was grotesque and alien, and was already lurching back to shoot another round.

Suddenly Shepard became the commanding officer.

'Go for the settlement!' he shouted, and they abandoned the Grizzly and their fallen comrades, ignoring injured limbs as they bolted for their lives.

Shepard had very little memory of everything that occurred next, aside from the fear that kept his feet pounding against the ground, refusing to look back. And he could do nothing else aside from yelling at his team, trying to boost the morale of those beginning to lag behind. The thing continually changed positions, screaming as it slunk back into the earth. They toppled over each other as it did so and each time it resurfaced, closer and closer. They scarcely dodged the killer projectiles— some not avoiding it at all and falling to their gurgling deaths— until it was merely Shepard leading and a few stragglers behind.

As they stormed the settlement and found the misshapen remains of their comrades, all hope was lost. Shepard could barely keep his heart from ripping out of his throat.

'Into the buildings, _get to cover!_'

The creature continued to burrow closer and closer until it was toppling the structures of the small colony, crumbling like china dolls.

'Shepard its _right behind us_! Jesus— fuck—'

_'Toombs_!'

Shepard swung a look back over his shoulder but there was nobody. He was the only one left. The earth rumbled. He fell to his knees and he nearly resigned— so close— _he was going to die—_ and then there it was, an open weapons cache with the slumped body of a marine that had dived with the same intent that Shepard now had flaring in his gut, a _fucking missile launcher_. Shepard forced himself back onto his feet and scooped it up. Breathing heavily he ran for the closest building while the creature tore its way through their makeshift camp they had set up in the centre of the colony, and swung the heavy weapon straight toward the creature's face, it was so close, and all of a sudden he saw it _perfectly_, could almost see his horror reflected back into the neon of its eyes.

Its mouth opened wide.

He thought he was going to die. He thought about Harper, then, and just almost dropped the weapon. Feeling that deadpanned guilt and pain whenever he thought of Mindoir and his parents. He thought about all the broken promises, all the times he hadn't been able to protect her from the monsters that walked around her, about all the _shit_ they had already endured, survived. He felt guilty for all the men who had stumbled behind him as he had half-assed himself through his last few minutes as commanding officer, the sole survivor for a second time in his petty life.

Shepard snarled and suddenly had no aspiration to die.

The kickback was surprisingly low as he aimed a missile straight for the dripping cavern of its tentacle-laden mouth and it _swallowed_ it, merely shuddering from the blast in its gullet. But this thing was heavenly built for rapid fire and he aimed straight for the fucker's face every time, and eventually it couldn't swallow anymore. With an unbearable sound it eventually writhed like a headless worm, slamming itself into the buildings as it went. It tumbled down onto the roof of Shepard's building until it dragged itself down into the hole it had emerged from, and he still heard its cries echoing, but held no belief it was truly dead. Just _mad_.

And true enough he only had a short moment of haunted peace to catch his breath, it was short-lived because he heard that same noise again, one he was sure would haunt him forever if he ever got out of this goddamned colony, but this time it was _different_, only slightly.

He felt a chill despite the sweat rolling down his back. _Not_ the same monster. And right fucking beneath him.

And just before the ground was ripped up beneath his feet and he was lost in the rubble of his shelter, he saw more than one set of neon eyes, heard the dripping shrieks of more than one monster, and resigned himself to the blood in front of his eyes. Sweetly, his last thoughts were Harper, and the tiny earthworm she had shown him once, in her small, grubby palm, dug up from the garden. He was so sorry.

Hard concrete whacked him on the back of the head and then his thoughts were nothingness.

It was only for a moment, because when he woke up again, it was cold, and it shot right through him. He gasped through the rubble and tried to shove the broken building out of the way, only just biting off a shout when he used his broken arm. The wind was getting violent, but despite that, there was no sound. For some reason he had always imagined that death would be soundless like this.

It didn't really sink in that he was even _lucky_ to have woken up at all. Getting up out of that wreckage was one of the hardest things he had ever done, his ears ringing and his body aching.

No, not _ringing_, there was actual _noise_, _words_, right beside his ear_—_

'_—any survivors! Last call, we have a shuttle at the landing zone! Our crew was unable to find anybody in the colony. Does anybody read— last call—_'

True enough as the world barely settled in around him, he heard the coordinated yells in the distance, as they were preparing to leave Akuze.

'Wait,' he coughed, blood coming out on his fist. Internal injuries. Not good.

He limped, tried to run, _hoping_ he was heading in the right direction— the landing zone was west, wasn't it? He kept trying to call out, stumbling along in a half-slump that made him look like the living dead, groaning to fit the image.

_If you bastards leave me here…_

'_Goddamn it is _anybody_ out there? Are you sure there was nobody? Do we have time to check again?'_

_'Those monsters are _out_ there!'_

_'Those were _our _men!'_

_'We leave in one minute.'_

'Fuck!' Shepard swore, propelling himself forward. The adrenaline and the unbearable fear of being left behind made him turn his stumble into a run, even though it felt like he was ready to fall apart, and his head about to split open.

Then there were blinding lights and the hum of an engine.

'Hey!' he shouted, and began to slow.

The dejected soldiers ascending the ramp into the shuttle threw a look over their shoulders, and jaws dropped. After a moment of gawking at this sole survivor strolling towards them like some brutal war hero, they moved into action and rushed towards him.

'_What_ in the name of—! What's your name, son? How the _hell_ are you alive?'

'John Shepard, please get me out of this fucking colony,' he muttered, and then added as an afterthought, 'sir.'

He felt like he could have fallen into them and sung a song as he drifted into sleep, but instead he bore his limp as best he could and hardened himself to the bleating around him. He walked up the ramps without much assistance and saved passing out until he was safely inside the shuttle.

The hard metal grates of the floor were unsurprisingly painful.

* * *

'_Shepard, Shepard… holy hell. Somebody has wanted you dead from day one, son.'_

The next time Shepard opened his eyes his peripherals were foggy, and there were dull noises of somebody clicking at an Omni-Tool.

He took a few startled breaths and set the person beside him in motion.

'Shepard.'

He felt so _numb_.

'...Anderson?'

'We really should stop meeting like this,' the older man murmured. A poor attempt at a joke, but Shepard was beyond caring about shoddy bedside manners. Anderson was smiling at him and genuinely relieved that he had awoken from a _second_ hell. Shepard was starting to see him as some sort of guardian angel.

'Anderson... tell me... _anyone_?'

He knew what he meant. He shook his head solemnly. 'I'm sorry, Shepard.'

'What about Toombs. I _didn't_ see him die. What if he got to cover—?'

'Shepard, the Thresher Maws destroyed nearly _everything_. That you even got out is beyond anyone.'

'Thresher Maw- those things?' He pressed a hand to his face and prolonged massaging the bridge of his nose, afraid he would betray any amount of fear. 'Fifty soldiers, Anderson. Fifty _goddamned_ soldiers and it was only _me_.'

'Shepard, we cleared the colony and searched as best we could. They didn't even find _you_. I'm sorry.'

His fists clenched to white. So hard his knuckles ached. His next words were shaky. 'How long was I out?'

'You took a hard hit to the head, Shepard. It's been nearly a week. You had a few ribs broken and a fracture in your arm from the Grizzly, but they tell me you'll survive. You're a resilient bastard, Shepard.' So informal. He couldn't decide whether or not he needed it right now, but it loosened his shoulders.

'I coughed up blood.'

'You bit your tongue at some point.'

'Ah. That's why my mouth feels like wasps nest.' He rubbed the back of his neck. His other arm lay against his chest in a sling. 'I appreciate you making sure I was okay, sir. But, is there a reason you're here, or do you just have one hell of a bedside manner?'

Anderson's demeanour quickly changed. 'Unfortunately, it wasn't just to welcome you back into the conscious world.' He eyed Shepard. 'Do you want to hear the good news, or the bad news?'

He tried not to think about what the bad news could be, and distracted himself by stretching his stable arm. 'Uh... good news. Give me the good news.'

'Well, it's _decent_ news. You're starting to get noticed, Shepard. The Alliance recognises your ability to survive unbeatable odds.'

'Getting knocked out by some rubble and hiding under wreckage doesn't really classify as surviving unbeatable odds.'

'Well, unfortunately Shepard, the world doesn't give a damn about the minute details.' Very swiftly put in his place, and Shepard was starting to reconsider that bedside manner. 'All they know is that you unwittingly stepped into a nest of monsters, and out of the fifty men that went in, you were the _only_ one left standing. That, and you walked to that landing zone like a blasé conqueror.'

Shepard made a face, still in disagreement. 'What's your _point_?'

'My _point_ is that despite the details on how you survived that hell, I _know_ you're a good soldier. That's why I agreed completely when they decided to offer you a spot on the N7 Programme.'

Shepard blinked in surprise. 'Oh.'

Anderson rubbed his forehead. 'Well, that's a start, I suppose…'

Shepard cleared his throat. 'Sorry. It really is an honour.'

'We don't want talent like yours going to waste, son.'

'So, that's all it takes to get into the course? Nearly dying?'

'Well, not _into_ the course, not yet. But you're... cordially _invited_ to prove yourself to get in. That might involve nearly dying a couple more times. The training is brutal and long.'

'Right, that sounds more like it.' He exhaled, long and deep. 'Okay. I'll consider it.'

'I'm glad.'

'And the _bad_ news?'

Anderson tried a couple of times to get it out, but each time he did it was enveloped in a sigh, and the older man shook his head. Eventually he found his way back to the seat beside his bed, and clasped his hands, elbows to his knees.

'Shepard, it's— it's about Harper.'

Immediately Shepard hardened, hackles rising on the defence. 'What?'

'There's been some trouble.'

_'What_ _happened_?'

* * *

As a personal favour Anderson had kept tabs through a few trustworthy Alliance friends on Earth, calling in some of his own owed favours with the authorities. Through Harper's developing mental barricade to all social necessities and Shepard becoming buried further into his work without a break, it had been useful, and very hard, learning all the bad news from somebody else. Doing terrible in school, bullies, long-term effects from… what had happened. She had developed a few personality disorders through the years of neglect and unfinished business. He learnt that the extra money he had sent her way for counselling had indeed _not_ been used for that purpose, and he'd never been as furious with anybody as he was with Loraine.

Anderson could barely keep the sympathy out of his voice when he told him about all the _good deeds_ of her psychiatrist. And Shepard didn't remember how many people he had to apologise to, and how much money he had to reimburse for destruction of private property.

When he had called Harper and promised a swift return and apologizing over and over that _so many years_ had already past, she had all but shut him down, staring at him like a stranger, insisting she was fine. Something changed in the young girl. And seeing her face and imagining some bastard _touching—_

It was like reliving the same nightmare. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like for her.

All that stopped him from becoming a deserter and running back to his forgotten sister was the news that she had mortally wounded both of her attackers in the form of biotic castration.

The world had made her almost ferocious. He didn't know if it was a good or bad thing.

The months following were arduous and full of trials— Hinal reported her for her violence towards him and her biotic abilities— both were swept aside and followed by an investigation into Hinal's background that brought forth other incidents of defiling his station and the trust of many,_ many_ kids, who might not have been damaged enough to not think twice about turning his nether-regions into unrecognisable slop.

Anderson made sure Harper came out on top, but everything felt irreversible. He couldn't truly do anything for her, not really, not while he continually chose his job over her.

'I'll see if I can maybe get some personal leave before I start my training. I'm sure they'd understand, so that I can be with you…'

_'I am dealing with it by myself. I don't need _anyone_.'_

'No, Ishi, you _do_. I'm so sorry I haven't been there. I've just been so caught up. I thought I was doing good for us, staying here and getting money. I was wrong. I should have been there, to protect you. Ishi— Harper, please look at me. Honey—'

_'You nearly died, John. I heard_,' she murmured, locking eyes with him. _'One day you will. You're _never_ coming back for me._'

She disconnected.

* * *

**Five Years Later**

**Serpent Nebular, Widow System, Citadel**

'You have a sister_?_''

'Yep.' he had spoken this over a mug of something hard and mouth-numbing. Vakarian could smell it from across the mess hall. It clung to Shepard. Everybody had begun their shore leave on the Citadel with a decent night's sleep in respective hotel and apartment beds, preparing themselves for a stint of booze. As endearing as the usual bustle was, there was something pleasant about a silent Normandy. And Shepard was in one of his rare, lonely moods. Vakarian couldn't say he was surprised, with the knowledge that Shepard was a closet drunk, to find the man getting hammered. It was that he was aboard an empty, docked Normandy in the middle of the day. By himself.

Making his way up from the lower decks and hearing the subtle "clunk" of glass on metal, Vakarian gathered himself and tried not to think about the regret he might feel after chancing a drunk, dribbling Shepard, and strolled over.

'Commander?'

'Garrus.' he replied solemnly. 'What are you doing here?'

'Getting the rest of my things. Forgot about them in the bustle.'

Vakarian placed the remaining belongings that he had stored in the back of the Mako on the table, and turned his attention to Shepard.

'You... okay, Commander?'

'_Yes_, just _stupidly_ drunk. Nobody was supposed to find me. I'm lamenting in my own sadness here. Kind of pathetic.'

Vakarian cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching low octaves. He supposed he had time to kill. 'Want company?'

'No, but sit down anyway. I'm gonna make myself puke with all this self-pity.'

Vakarian had. Certainly not regretful, as getting insight from the enigma that was Shepard was rare and surprisingly pleasant. His speech was a little slurred, but that was to be expected. He _really_ couldn't handle his alcohol.

What was _not_ suspected was the sudden realisation that Shepard had a sibling with _very_ potent blood running through their veins.

'You said your entire family died on Mindoir.'

'Well, I lied,' the human shrugged, his hands shifting and restless. 'I don't know why. Maybe it's so I could keep her safe. Maybe I don't like to think about her.' Shepard rubbed his brow, head lowered in such a pathetic way it took Vakarian off guard. Very rarely was the word "pathetic" used when describing Commander Shepard. 'Maybe I feel too guilty.'

Vakarian took a seat at the other end of the table. 'Where is she?'

'Earth,' he murmured. 'After Mindoir and after the Alliance… saved us, my father's brother, a Marine, managed to get us a safe passage. Anderson helped us out a lot during that time. And Peter had a wife on earth. Figured it was a good environment for my sister. Only, I didn't stay with her. I followed my uncle into the Alliance and I left her there all alone. She was five, and she was messed up from what happened. And I abandoned her.'

Vakarian didn't know what to say. He'd never gotten himself into a position where he and the Commander talked unprofessionally. He had a lot of admiration for him, and he had no doubt they were friends. But he really didn't know how to run his mouth, not like Alenko did. 'I'm... sure you had your reasons.'

'Sure I did. I wanted to provide for the both of us. Most of my money went to her. A little bit extra for counselling. But the real reason is that I didn't want to be stuck on Earth, living in the slums.' So the Commander had a selfish streak. Vakarian jerked in his seat when Shepard's head thumped the table. Humans were so odd sometimes. 'I'm a terrible, horrible brother.'

Vakarian cleared his throat. 'Couldn't you keep in contact with her?'

'I was busy with training most of the time, especially once I got into N7, but I did try. And when I did… after a while… she just didn't want to talk to me.' His head rolled across the metal surface. 'I don't blame her. I left her with my uncle's wife.' Shepard scoffed at himself. 'Good environment for my sister? What a joke. The woman made children cry. Loraine. She's more infuriating than the council.'

Vakarian found that hard to believe.

'Yeah, they instantly hated each other. Loraine used to send emails to my uncle, complaining— the only time she wrote to him. My sister didn't make it easy. She was the only kid she couldn't make cry.' He was smiling now, but it was gone as quick as it came, replaced with hard lines, crinkled eyes. 'I promised I would go back for her. But I haven't yet. She never forgave me for leaving her so long, and she changed, hardened up. And she's like _me_, she can't stay cooped up. She probably went mad. Especially after… everything that happened.'

Vakarian could not find the heart to press that little titbit, not when even mentioning it made Shepard's eyes go dead. 'I had an outlet, you know. Training. Fighting. Even… even killing. But my sister…'

Garrus shook his head, unnerved to see his commander slipping under suppressed demons. He was _definitely_ not the one to talk to. 'You've got some time now. Why don't you go and find her?'

Silence, again, but not the haunted kind. His eyes were rifled with frustration. 'Things went bad a couple of years ago. _Really_ bad. And then our uncle died and Loraine couldn't handle it, and then my sister ran away. I haven't been able to track her down.' The likelihood of such a young girl surviving in the slums was thin. Either she was caught up in something bad, or she was dead. The unspoken words hung in the air.

'What's her name?'

Shepard's mouth twitched. 'Harper Ishiro Shepard. Now isn't that a name for a commander?' And then a smile returned with those sweet words, spreading slowly across his face.

'Shepard,' Garrus said, informality feeling strange but necessary, 'there's no harm in looking. I have a younger sister. I would look for her.'

* * *

Only Shepard could do it, they said. Only Shepard could rise from the mass of rubble like that with barely a scratch on him. All of a sudden he was the pinnacle of human strength, and it would have been overwhelming if he hadn't felt so numb from the whole affair.

The Citadel was in a fading turmoil, slowly recovering from the devastation of the attack. Any personal chaos was hidden behind the reconstruction taking place, the belief of this 'New Era' the Council drilled into collective citizens. He walked through the Presidium to Captain Anderson's— _Councillor _Anderson's new offices. As unsightly as it must have been for people to see Commander Shepard walking through the destruction of the Citadel with a smirk on his face, he simply could not help it. _Councillor_ Anderson. He remembered the feeling of Anderson's eyes boring into his back with deathly intent as he had walked away from the Council— if only to escape what he knew would be a resolute pleading for them to play down the Reaper threat he seemed to babble on about all the time. He had left Anderson and Udina to finish the celebratory yahoo, because he wasn't sure he wouldn't punched one of them in the face if they denied the threat of the Reapers again, and undo all the good deeds of humanity in one fell swoop.

Being on the Council, he was sure, was the last thing Anderson wanted. He had a feeling _Udina_ didn't feel so strongly about it either.

He nodded to some people who followed him with their gaze. And there were _many_ of them.

_You're a hero now, Shepard. Get used to the stares._

He made his way to the newest Councillors chambers (decidedly less drunk then he had been two days ago, but not by much) and rapped on the frame of the open door. The office was giant, empty, and lonely. Shepard almost regretted resigning the Captain to this.

Almost.

Anderson dropped a box of personal appendages onto his desk and turned to Shepard. His face turned sour. Shepard realised he was still smirking.

_'Very_ _funny_, Shepard. I hope you've come to tell me it was all just your ill-attempted humour and that you were going to give the seat to Udina the entire time.'

The Commander leaned against the door. 'Afraid not, Councillor.'

Anderson made a dismissive noise and went back to sorting out his belongings.

'Sir, I hope you don't think I made the decision on a whim. You're the only one I trust to keep the people here on their toes for the coming threat.'

Anderson sighed and sounded resigned. Of course not. Shepard wasn't that much of a scathing git. The older man shook his head and laughed quietly. 'Udina's face was priceless, I have to admit.'

'I wish I had a record of it.' Shepard said with a grin. 'Sir, there was something I came to ask of you.'

Anderson raised a brow, tapping a stack of papers together against the surface of his desk to straighten them out.

'I don't think you answer to me anymore, Shepard.'

'As a Spectre, I answer to the Council.' _Not the Alliance_. He'd more than once used this to his advantage to overturn Alliance protocol, if not in dire circumstances. This had to be the first selfish instance. 'You are part of the Council, Captain. Er, Councillor.'

Anderson winced. 'Case made.'

'I… have a favour to ask. This is about Harper.'

Shepard watched the older man straighten it out in his mind, and his demeanour changed. Anderson hadn't heard, or thought, about the girl in a long time. His voice softened. Everything seemed to soften at the mention of Harper. Especially his heart. He also remembered a boy, with eyes too dull and old, offset on his young face.

No amount of eluded time, no amount of enemies trampled could take away the effects of getting your entire life ripped away from you, being tortured the way he was. But at least Shepard's eyes sparkled sometimes, and he had caught up with their age.

'It's been a long time.' Anderson said, his tone forewarning the disappointment this "favour" might hold.

'Far too long, sir.' the Commander murmured.

'What can I do, son?'

'You used to go through some old contacts on earth. You helped me keep track of her before— I'm asking if you could do it again.'

Anderson made a noise much like exasperation, but it was a little bit gentler. Still, Shepard had no doubts about how difficult and problematic this favour was. He rubbed the back of his neck, his thinning hair, and Shepard gave the man some credit— it only took him forty seconds and a single, simple analysis—

'Shepard, I— it really,_ really_ has been a long time.'

Shepard nodded.

'She disappeared _years_ ago.'

'I know, sir.'

All objections suddenly died on his tongue. Anderson's eyed turned hard with resolve, looking at the man in front of him, about to topple over. He didn't understand where this sudden desire came from, this swept-under-the-rug historical conundrum that had made him turn inward for many years. But there was a new fire in his eyes, so determined and desperate. He'd hate to see it burn out.

'I'll... see what I can do. But, Shepard…'

'I know.' he said again, quiet, nearly breaking, and turned for the exit. 'Let me know if you find anything.'

If_ I find anything._ Anderson didn't have the heart to say it aloud.

* * *

**The Local Cluster, Sol System, Earth**

_'Hang in there, Ishi. Hang in there.'_

_Loraine is waiting in the cramped hallway in front of the door, her huge frame like an iron curtain, baring down._

_'You're going.'_

'No_.'_

_'That's good money being spent on you, you ungrateful child. Money that could be spent _feeding_ us. You're going to therapy, you're going to see Hinal.'_

_'I _don't_ need it!'_

_'The hell you don't need it, girl!' Loraine grabs her wrists, Loraine shakes her furiously. 'Look at you, you can't even look me in the eye. You think I don't see it, you think I don't see your wrists after you-'_

_The grip turns to slime._

_There's Hinal. There's that boy. And then there's this other monster. And he's always there._

_'...You're a little thing, aren't you?'_

Shepard shoved her hand over her mouth and buckled under the pressure of her ever-present shriek, and sat there trembling until the quakes died down and she had nothing left but her shamefully damp eyes. A few quiet but large intakes of breath and an attempt to squash the images behind her eyes, she listened out for the source of the thing that had woken her sharply out of her sleep.

When the louder sounds of memories quietened she finally heard the long, brash footsteps finding the creaks in the panels outside her door, and she realised with spite that the only reason she had caught herself in time was because of this unceremonious invasion of noise. The expected thumps, thrice against the door, and Ken's unsubtle voice, had to be bared tonight. If he hadn't woken her up— she didn't want to think about where she could have been. And what they would have all said if she had screamed.

The others around her groaned as Ken continued to drone on the other side of the door, calling her out. Shepard rubbed her eyes with the balls of her fists, stretching to the tips of her toes like a cat, and tumbled out of the cot. She merely had to pull on her boots and the few scattered items of light armour, as she wouldn't _dare_ sleep without being completely clothed in a room filled primarily with testosterone. In the world she lived in, that was simply _asking_ for it.

'Is there a hothead named Harper in there? If so, could she get her sweet little ass out this door? Love, Ken.'

She wiped the remaining sweat from her forehead, tried to swallow the rattled feeling, the far-off memories. No time to look in a mirror, to assess how pale and weak she was.

Ken managed to get a fist once more against the door before she swung it open and squinted against the halo of artificial light that surrounded him. She glared in question, though already suspected the answer. His face was smug. _Paired up again._

Ken grinned wretchedly. 'You an' me, baby.'

Her face was lemon-sour as she yanked the door shut behind her, forgetting about the few remaining inhabitants that were still sleeping inside. They snarled a few four-letter words.

She pushed the short hair out of her face with a subconscious level of insecurity.

'You look like you crawled out of a cat's ass.'

'It's a look I generally get when I have to see you first thing after waking up.'

'Ooh, ouch. Don't look so bitter.'

It was hard not to, being trapped between this feral man and the door behind her. He stunk of booze and grease— hadn't even showered since the last mission.

Without a word she barged passed him, and straight for the armoury. He trailed behind lazily.

'Why are you in such a foul mood?'

'Just your breath.'

'My _breath_? Fresh as a daisy.'

'I had no idea daisies smelt like curdled ass-milk.'

His burst of laughter was sudden. 'Where do you come up with this shit?'

She bit her smile. Ken was a pig, but she found no resentment in making him laugh. And on few occasions he had been _reasonable_ company. Quick-witted, could handle her bullying. Whenever he brushed his teeth and combed his hair— which was _very_ rare indeed- he was even cute. But these occasions were found few and in between the acerbic stench of his breath and the telltale signs that he was sopping and thoughts began to _wander_ then.

They made their way through the narrow halls of the Tenth Street Red's North-West hub. The walls hummed drearily. The electrics in this place were finding it hard to keep the lights from flickering. It was late into the evening, most likely darkness was sweeping over the metropolis— the best time to prowl. She wasn't expecting to be awoken for another couple of hours with the other members, set on various nightly activities.

It wasn't _so_ rare to be woken early with a special mission, more often than not paired with Ken. He seemed to have unwarranted leverage in the hierarchy of the Reds— most likely because he was such a good intel man, with guys on the "inside". And they got pared most of the time— or, he managed to convince the honchos to get her on his team. She was young, too young to have any true recognition in the gang, even as she began to turn some heads. Ken always had her back. Maybe for not all the right reasons. She could complain as much as she wanted about the fact that he stunk and groped her occasionally, but once her pockets were full of pay from these extra jobs, she quit complaining.

'Why do I keep getting dumped with you?'

'Maybe because we're such a good team.' She snorted, and Ken shrugged. 'Probably because they team us up alphabetically, Shep. Just my luck, huh?'

'_Just _yours.'

'Hah.'

Shepard looked at him awkwardly as they descended a staircase. 'I thought I was on patrol tonight... on the streets.'

'Maybe they realise you're better than being a look-out for drug deals, babe.'

_Or maybe you oozed your charm on Norris again._

He was quick with his compliments. She pretended that they annoyed her, but she usually couldn't hide her blush.

'Now, my little spitfire, we're on a mission. We got info about a base of operations— the Sirens got a spot underneath one of the casinos downtown. They just want us to keep an eye on it, see who comes in and out. My guess it's just some minor illegal gambling, some blood sport on the side. Maybe cage fighting. It ain't much, but it'll hurt 'em eventually if we take it out.'

He was well-informed, which meant it was _his_ information, from _his_ guys. How Ken was only of middle-ranking in the Reds was beyond her. And then she remembered he smelt liked ass and groped all the wrong women.

* * *

**Serpent Nebular, Widow System, Citadel**

_'Take your sister.' His hand was wretched towards the small girl's, and forcefully locked around her wrist. 'You do not let go of her, do you hear me?'_

_'Yes. Yes, mother.'_

_'What's happening?'_

_'Quiet, Ishi, everything is going to be okay.' That girl new better. Too smart for her own good. She watched, narrowing her eyes at her thin-framed mother as she whispered hurriedly to John, and he nodded, his face drowning in horror, his eyes dampening. Their father was yelling somewhere close by, and even behind closed doors she heard the people outside. Something sour was in the air._

_'You're lying,' she whispered. Her mother couldn't look at her._

_Something terrible was going to happen._

_'Whatever you do, do _not_ let go of each other, ever.'_

_'I promise.'_

Shepard realised very early that he broke many of his promises, because since his mother's words, he had let go of Harper twice.

The first, when he had lost her to that man, who had put his hands on her body.

And two, when he had left her, truly alone, on earth.

He thought about the last time he had seen her face, the last time she accepted his call, before they started to ring out, longer and longer. Until it seemed like he was trying to connect to a ghost, something beyond his grasp. She was sprouting, growing up, slowly growing old. Lost like an underfed puppy, playing a game of nature versus nurture. She had hard eyes, like they'd swelled up with tears and then solidified. And she doesn't look at him like he's a brother. The sweet way she had kissed his cheek before he had left is buried under all the words left unsaid, the resentment, the bruised, brittle hearts.

A message from Loraine, because Peter was dead now and there was nobody to screen through her bullshit before it got to him. Harper has stopped going to school completely.

Harper sneaks out every chance she gets. She comes back with bruises and money and attitude.

And finally, to stop trying to call the girl. Because she was gone. And now that she was gone, Loraine didn't have a reason to stay either.

He had made a promise to Harper a long time ago that he would go back for her. He didn't think that either of them meant eleven years later.

Sometimes he felt like he shouldn't have been the great Commander Shepard.

But then, two weeks later, a call from Anderson. He'd immersed himself so much in preparation for his next venture into space, just blindly spilling his hotel desk with work and his mind with training instead of booze that when he'd answered the call he hadn't noticed the strange tone on the other end, like it was coupled with that butterfly feeling of being so excited you felt sick. Running on mere hours of sleep, he'd been curt, tired, slow to catch on.

'Shepard. I have some news.'

'It's three in the morning. Councillor.'

'It's news I knew you would want to hear.'

'News about the Reapers?' Because he really, _really_ didn't want to hear about it, feeling sour enough.

'_No_, Shepard.' Now it was his former captain's turn to be forthcoming. He spoke slowly, like addressing a child. 'News from _Earth_.'

He started paying attention after that.

Getting Shepard to say anything about his family, or his life before the Alliance freely, was a rare thing, and Anderson only remembered few instances in all his time of knowing Shepard for this to occur. He had spoken of Harper as a fierce little girl with intelligence too great and too troublesome for her age. Anderson had always tried to envision the trembling mess of a child, still black and blue and burnt, who couldn't handle the gaze of anybody unfamiliar, as somebody raucous and quick as Shepard had said she was. He hoped she had found that spirit again.

And Shepard had _definitely_ found his spirit now. The man who had originally answered on the comm had been a fleeting image of the man who now leant against his desk, bouncing with excess excitement, like something unnatural was in his veins.

'Shepard, it's not good. She's in big, big trouble. But I'll do all I can to get her out. I have people I trust. I can get her on her way here, they'll make sure she's—'

Shepard was running both his hands through his hair, so giddy his heel was tapping repeatedly against the floor. 'No,' he said eventually, his eyes levelling out. 'I need to get her myself.'

Anderson was reproachful. 'You're needed here.'

Shepard nearly rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. 'I still have shore leave, sir. Let me use it to go to her.'

'Shepard, the _council_—'

'It's a personal matter, I'll pay for it myself if they don't want to stand behind me.'

The look the boy gave him made his next thought crumble.

'Anderson. Please.'

_Goddamn it_. 'I'll talk to them first thing. Make sure you're packed and ready.'

A moot point, because he had been packed and ready in the ten minutes after their first talk.

When the Council finally relented, and brushed the matter off like dirt marring a fingernail, with the promise that Shepard would return within the two week mark, Anderson brought the news back, and he half expected the boy to embrace him. Instead, it seemed he changed his mind at the last moment and nearly broke his hand when he shook it. Leaving the Normandy and his crew (some of which he had to search for, as they were already beginning their shore leave with immediate intoxication) behind with the promise of returning, he boarded the earliest Alliance vessel directly headed for Earth.

* * *

**The Local Cluster, Sol System, Earth**

She alleviated the ache on her arm, transferring the weight to the crook of her elbow while she massaged her shoulder. She tried to count the number of brittle umbrellas that passed by on the road below, trying to ignore the vexing drawl of the man beside her. Eventually the grinding of her teeth began to drown him out.

Ken was persistent, however. He nudged her.

'Listen, love, why don't we find a _nice_ little dry ally to-'

She shoved a fisted hand into his chest, throwing him off balance, nearly taking an awkward tumble into the muddy concrete with a few kilos of heavy weaponry on top of him.

'Ken, you stink. Of booze. Mostly you just stink.' Her nose crinkled without her looking at him. He stunk _worse_ than he had before they even deployed for the mission. How did he even manage to down _all_ that alcohol in that ten minute window? He'd been so chipper with the discovery of an enemy base hidden under a grimy and barely legal casino they were now trained on across the road. Now he was more content to _stare_ at her. She felt her temper rising.

'Oh come on, Shepard. Have a little fun for once.'

'Shut the frack up, Ken.' Her gaze tracked back through the scope, repositioning her aim steadily.

'Frack?'

'Old Earth culture.'

'Well aren't you just an index of little known facts.'

'Why the hell did you rope me into this?' she snapped, '"Count the Sweaty Pimp" got boring like _an hour ago_.'

'I tried to start "Count the Transvestite", but you're such a downer.'

They had spent the past hour and a half watching shady character after shady character enter and leave the casino, as well as the streets and street corners lathered with prostitutes and god knows what else that crawled out into the underworld once that sun disappeared. The rain hadn't deterred any of them, but at least it had dampened the smell. It did little for Ken's. They had recognised a few people that had marked themselves out to be part of the Sirens, but not enough to mark the casino as one of their bases of operation.

'_Nobody_ important is going to walk out that door. These guys are penniless thugs. We're wasting our time.'

'Time with you is never a waste.'

'Shut the hell up.'

'Look, it hasn't been a waste, not really. It's not like we're after anybody. We're just scouting.' He brushed the filthy locks out of his face, staring at the girl again and the focus she had, that made her forearms tense. He itched to touch her again, brain swimming. He reached out for her small shoulder.

'Touch me again and I'll shoot your freaking foot.' she growled.

'Wow, I can basically see the icicles forming on you.' He sniffed, and gazed back through his own scope.

After a few moment of nothing but drizzling rain and the constant strain of keeping their weapons trained a foot before the door to the building across the street from them, as fat gambler after trophy wife drooled out of the building, Ken made a noise, commonly known as a bellow, and completely tilted his weapon against the wall of the balcony, to retrieve gum from his front pocket.

Her jaw clenched. 'Ken.'

'Yeah baby?' he asked, blowing a bubble.

It popped. Spittle went flying into her hair. 'I'm going to throw you off this roof.' Instead she punched his shoulder as hard as she could.

'_What_? My arm was getting tired.'

'And now I hope you can't _feel_ it.'

'You're so violent— okay, okay, shutting up. You give me the chills when you look like that. Not at all _bad_ ones, either, so _intense_-'

She would have thrown him off. She would have watched him turn into a mix of concrete and human pizza, except suddenly he changed. He spat out his gun and righted his gun so quickly he nearly fell over.

'Holy _fuck_.' he whispered fiercely, peeking through his scope between intervals of staring at her with a gaping, open expression.

'What?' she snapped, still peeved with him.

'It's Garbino.'

Her brain did a few double takes. '_What_?' Shepard lifted her own weapon and very nearly poked her own eye out in the rush, as she tried to focus down on the street below, amongst the drizzle and black tar. An inconspicuous, fat man, amongst the many that came in and out. But he was… off. So normal it was abnormal. Hands in his pockets and relaxed elbows and yet so skittish and edgy.

'Is that seriously _Garbino?_'

'Yep.' Ken breathed.

'As in, notorious fat-guy Karl Garbino?'

'Yes.'

'As in _head honcho to the Sirens _Karl Garbino, who supposedly made a guy chop his own hand off and eat it. _That_ Karl Garbino?'

'Yeah-huh.'

'You're shitting me.'

'Ken of the Reds don't shit nobody. Look, tattoo on his neck— see it? It's fuckin' him. And we got a rule, babe.'

Her hands were shaking. Adrenaline, excitement, apprehension. 'We see fracking _Garbino_—'

'—We shoot to kill.' Ken swallowed audibly. He was done with joking— trained on Garbino's head without remorse. Like a killer of the Reds.

'This is meant to be some lowly shithole clubhouse, what the hell is the _honcho_ doing here?' she hissed at him.

He shrugged helplessly. 'Looks like we scored bigger than we thought.'

Garbino received a nod from one of his crew, who was scouting the surrounding area for prying eyes and unwelcome attention in general— and the nod was an affirmation that these people were minding their own shady business, that it was a-ok, and she was just about grow a pair and follow through with the Red's number one bloodthirsty rule when all of a sudden, everything went bad.

The gang member, in a single moment, went from nodding to an almost clockwise thrash of his head, and Garbino, about to unassumingly enter his den of safety, shot around with bulging eyes. There was a scream, directly below them so they couldn't properly peek over the building, but guns were obviously being drawn. And several people they had picked out as crewmembers were yanking out their own artillery and covering their boss, and suddenly ordinary people were scattering to get out of the crossfire as things got messy, fast.

'Oh, shit, _Ken_—'

Hair stood on the back of her neck.

There was footsteps behind them, so faint, but she was critical and her nerves were starving for a threat, and her bones screamed with self-preservation. She spun around and grabbed the big wrist, attached to a fist that had been aiming for a hit to knock her out. This man was strong and mountainous and her wrist jarred from the block. He was dressed head to toe in thorough armour, nothing through the visor on his face, no ounce of what was lying beneath, or their intent.

The gunfire and screaming below was like a backdrop to this slinking, black-enfolded troop that had climbed up the building behind them and now advanced across the rooftop. The sounds swallowed her grunts and her attacker's returning sounds of pain as she abandoned her rifle and aimed a biotic-laden kick at his knee.

'Harp, just put your hands _up_—' She heard Ken shout, and she turned her head to him to see his own weapon abandoned and his arms up, slowly rising from a crouch as a couple of their assailants surrounded him, poising a weapon at his face, but making no attempt to attack.

A moment in time of a thousand thoughts. A set up? And who the frack were these guys. Garbino's men? Another rival?

'Harper— goddamn— _put your hands up_.'

Maybe she would have, but she'd never be able to tell. She scrambled for footing and tried to swoop away from her attacker— and she was small and usually found this bit easy— but she was too goddamn slow, and before she could even consider fight or flight or surrender, a hand went for her collar. The screaming in her bones halted— or turned so pitched it was like a ringing, because all she could think of was this hand severed or broken but more importantly _away from her body_, so she fumbled for their fingers and kicked again— missed anything vital— but then landed one in a soft place that no armour was a match for. And while he was preoccupied, she grappled loosening fingers and yanked them back as hard as she could. More sobbing, another chance of escape, but then a hand in her short yanking and pulling roots bloody. She snarled, ripping at the armour of a wrist right by her face, fingers tinged in blue and humming faintly. She found exposed flesh and then bit as _hard_ as she could.

A man's screeches. Still gunshots. Still Ken's garbling, as knuckles scraped her cheekbone.

And a last image of Ken, as she slumped, standing amongst a river of black, staring straight at her.


End file.
